Kevin Patrick

Gold Star - 13,439 Points (Taurus / Ontario)

Destination - Poem by Kevin Patrick

Lost in translation
Got no reservations for the castle in
The stratosphere
Fortunately there's no detour
To the southern tipped Pelagic zone
Where daemons conjugate my fame
And suffer most egregious blows

Bodies static -
But mind's elastic
Boundless and enthusiastic
Though I'm stuck inside a prophylactic
With poor decor that's out of vogue
That's been styled by prudential rouges
Some Robin Hood of Hofmann school
Who should have drowned in Mobsters boots

Being flesh was novel
Now I'm metaphysically ambidextrous
Astral Projected, ticketed entrapment
Somewhere inside the celestial licensed bureau
Seven degrees outside of utopia
In a waiting room outside New Jersey
I feel electrically phenomenal
And subliminally ostensible
I simply waste away the time
Parked on the border of Summerland
Getting kicked around on a school playground
I want be numinous like a Cadillac star
But I'm getting credited as a Pontiac Barge

Now I am waiting in the queue
For a passport to Valhalla
An omnipotent traffic warden
In a cyan Maytag garb
Told me to wait and stop my ignescent moaning
But the lineup was humongous
And there were Visigoths being processed
I pushed and shoved with a sans coulettes
Helen Keller played hide and seek
With an annoying French Dauphin
Burroughs was getting chatted up By Wild
Miles Davies was playing a solo funeral March
It was going on its 500 hundredth long hour

There's no end to the waiting
In the expressway to heaven
So I stimulate a couple tricks
Learned in the premier of vocations
And get a stage pass to the eternal citadel
Eating pears from golden tree
Playing leers to a ring around the Roses
No one falls down they just get up
They play the same song in verbatim
An endless recycle of greatest hits played
Again and again until Sam's head caves in
I try to cry but what is the point
Grief becomes vacuumed to Masonic trappings

Centuries are hours and eternity is lasting
Boredom sets in when the games are at end
Every day is summertime
No sunsets cast to cry at night
And wail the moments lost
Which return to sender again
So I fly on the edge of improbable dreams
Listlessly realizing there's nothing but road
Stretching on and on in the mouth of a snake
Who eats his own tail from beginning to end
I scream for release, a cherubim descends
"Let me feel the urge to die again"
Fiat Lux regains with infinite might

Is stimulated
Overjoyed in ebullience
That it was just a facetious dream
No Elysium field of Bosch quagmire
Or Dante's gold memo on pardasio
Locked in wonder of an endless carnival
Leads nothing to remember at what is to marvel

I'm not jaded
Nor Disconcerted
If death is life with all the breaks
What is the point of this entire cause?
Every joy in life that springs
Comes from being an ephemeral flame
I found that if all things are forever
There would never be a secret treasure.

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, December 30, 2012

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